


Diverging Paths

by Shadow_Dogma



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-19 17:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5975302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Dogma/pseuds/Shadow_Dogma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy Carter is happy the war's over with, but she tired of what she's forced to put up with as one of the only female agents working at the NYC branch of the S.S.R. Perhaps her knew partner will shake things up.<br/>Steve Rogers just wants to move on with his life, but his past seems to haunt his thoughts. As he begins work as a new agent for the S.S.R. he starts to move on. That is until his past catches up to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Saw CA:TFA the other night on TV, and the ending really got to me, so I started reading some fix it-fics and then this came to me. It should be multi-chapter but I'm not that great at updating.  
> Be forewarned, I've never actually seen an episode of Agent Carter, so everything I know I picked up from reading FF, although this is AU, so it technically doesn't matter. I've also taken a few create liberties.

Irritation was one emotion that Peggy Carter knew well. And it had nothing to do with her being a bitter person. In fact, she could be quite cordial with anyone she met, so long as they were respectful. There in lay the problem. No one respected her. Driven women didn't have a place in a "man's" world. And if Peggy Carter was one thing, it was driven.

 

During the War it hadn't been so bad. Sure, there'd still been plenty of blatant sexism within the ranks then, what with the soldiers' constant lewd comments along with the command's obvious favoritism toward her male counterparts, but the large scale of the war had developed a need for any able bodies willing to work. Many support roles previously held by men had suddenly become hers to perform. She'd performed them almost perfectly if she did says so herself.

 

However, with the end of the war came a rather large influx of returning soldiers looking for work. Most women who'd had jobs during the war had been forced to give them up for the newly unemployed veterans. Over the last couple of years since the surrender of the Axis powers, society had settled into a distinct structure of what they thought the world should be. Men were expected to have good stable careers while the women were relegated to being glorified maids and nannies. If being a housewife was what truly made a person happy, then she could really care less. Peggy is all for doing what makes you happy.

 

Problem is, being a housewife is not what's going to make _her_ happy. She wants a career. A long and good one too. But society seems to think she's either incapable, or its inappropriate, or often times both.

 

For two years she's been stuck playing secretary for an office full of fat, egotistical, gormless, pillocks. She has more field experience in her little pinky than everyone of them combined yet all she does is make _them_ coffee and file _their_ reports. If Peggy had wanted this type of job, she'd have gone and worked at an actual telephone company.

 

Yes, irritation is a familiar feeling to her indeed, but today she's feeling it stronger than usual. Last month, her and her partner Agent Gregory Spencer had brought in a fairly valuable Russian scientist. Despite the prejudice she's used to facing, she'd been pretty confident that rather impressive act would prompt Thompson to finally promote her. She knew she shouldn't have gotten her hopes up. After all, three of her other _male_ partners have been promoted since coming to the New York branch. Why not add a forth.

 

Jack had called her into his office shortly before lunch. At first she'd thought he'd merely wanted to give his lunch order, which was annoying in and of itself. Instead he'd barely thrown her a glance before informing her that Spencer was being reassigned to the Strategic Operations Task Force, a unit she very much wanted to be a part of, and that her new partner would be here on Monday. She'd managed to stay calm enough to give him an only slightly vicious complaint. His response had basically implied that she was terrible at her job, an outright lie, and that if she would just learn her place she could find herself a husband to take care of her. Nobody takes care of Peggy Carter expect for Peggy Carter. The incident had ended with her taking an early lunch too cool off. And if she forgot to get his order before leaving, well the pouch he was starting to grow could hold him till dinner.

 

Although she was actually quite glad to be rid of Spencer it infuriates her that someone as incompetent as him would be going to such an elite and vital task force. She has no doubt that he'd taken credit for all her work as a way to propel himself up the ranks. Her only solace is that he is so spectacularly horrible at his job, he probably won't last more than six months at the SOTF office. She just wishes that she could be there to see his face when he gets his sexist prat fired.

 

In spite of her anger toward the situation, it wasn't until he'd made mention of a husband that she truly became enraged. Believe it or not, but marriage doesn't actually sound off putting for her. In fact, she'd rather like to find someone she could spend the rest of her life with. Her issues with marriage stem from the fact that she has extremely specific standards. Marrying a man solely for his ability to "take care of her" is not within those parameters. The implication that she even needs to be is insulting. She's not some bloody damsel in distress needing to be rescued by her Prince Charming.

 

"Who rained on your parade, English?"

 

Angie's chipper tone broke Peggy from her fuming, nearly making her jump. So consumed in her thoughts she hadn't even realized she'd arrived at her destination. Sighing she took a seat at her usual spot.

 

"My bigot of a boss that's who." She says.

 

"I assume they promoted that ingrate over you again."

 

It's more statement than question. She's seen her friend be passed over enough to know the signs.

 

"You assume right." Peggy replies.

 

Angie pours her friend a tea before going to put her usual order in. The automat gets few visitors around this time and her boss hardly ever leaves the back during quiet hours, so she's fairly free to sit down with her best friend for a nice chat.

 

"He even had the gall to tell me to my face that I should go find a husband."

 

"He did not!" Angie gasps, "And you let him live?"

 

"Unfortunately homicide is frowned upon within the company." Peggy quips. Angie laughs.

 

"If you really wanted, I doubt they'd even be able to charge with anything, lack of evidence and all. Probably wouldn't even think you a suspect what with your delicate female countenance." Angie says the last part with a mocking impression of Thompson's voice. Peggy drops her head to the table with a groan.

 

"Oh God!"

 

"Cheer up, English." She says with a nudge, "One day you'll be running that joint and all those men will be forced to listen to you."

 

"It's not just about my voice being heard, Angie, I want to be respected. I want to be treated as an equal."

 

"And you will. One day women will look up to you for your bravery and strength for taking on the world and their backwards thinking in regards to women's rights. But you're a pioneer Peggy. On the front lines of this war. It's going to take a lot of hard work and time."

 

"You're right. Sorry. I'm just not having the best of days." Peggy apologizes.

 

"That's what friends are for, to make you feel better about yourself while we put down whosever irritating us." She ribs.

 

"Yes well, if there was someone at the office other than Sousa that even believed in me a little bit, I wouldn't need so much cheering up." She takes a few sips of her tea.

 

"Well what about your new partner? Maybe he'll actually be a decent fellow."

 

"Doubtful. He supposedly coming in from D.C. so he'll either think himself better than everyone here, or he'll feel he has something to prove." Peggy retorts.

 

**Washington D.C. S.S.R. Headquarters**

 

"Are you sure you're ready for this Rogers? It's only been two months. We've spent far too much time and money on you to have you getting yourself killed over something that's unnecessary."

 

While the Brigadier General was never any good at expressing his feelings, Steve had known him long enough to read between the lines. Philips was worried about him. A lot of guys who were discharged never truly made it home. Shell-shock is what they call the worst cases. Steve's not been diagnosed with it, but he's also more than aware that he wasn't unaffected by what happened. Nightmares keep him up most nights and he tends to be jumpier than before. Almost as if every stray sound is the enemy creeping up on his six. Thankfully flashbacks haven't shown as one of his symptoms. Although he's zoned a few times. So he understands Philips' concerns and actually tends to feel pretty touched that the scary Army general cares so much. But the thing is, being copped up in an underground bunker doing nothing isn't going to help him get over his demons.

 

"I'm absolutely sure, sir." Steve says.

 

"Because I can send someone else. Dugan showed interest in taking a post up ther-"

 

"With all due respect, sir, I'm not going to be ready to embrace the world until I've faced it. And keeping me here is not doing anyone any good. My skills should be put to use somewhere and honestly, sir, it would help take my mind off everything."

 

Steve's never been one to interrupt a C.O., but this something he needs. The war end over two years ago, but he's been stuck in limbo ever since. Philips gives a mighty sigh before sitting down at his desk.

 

"Alright. Since you're so certain, the New York office is expecting you by Monday Morning. This is your ticket, keys to your new apartment, and your mission dossier. The train leaves at 1800 hours. Work starts at 0700 hours. Don't be late."

 

"Understood, sir."


	2. Chapter 2

The drive to the depot had been blessedly uneventful, but terribly nerve-racking. Trains were something he had been hoping to avoid. They brought up memories he wasn't ready to deal with. Memories both horrifying and pleasant, but always painful. He'd been tempted to try and exchange the train ticket for a bus ticket, but he knew Philips would find out. If the General was aware of his aversion to trains, he'd recall Steve in a heartbeat to undergo countless hours more of mandated therapy. The doctors were already worried about his other aversions, they didn't need to know about any more.

 

He'd spent the majority of the ride attempting to concentrate on the mission dossier while putting in a valiant effort to ignore the fact that he was on a train. Though constantly interrupted by his own anxieties, he'd managed to read through the whole file and he found himself quite impressed. Agent Margaret Carter was to be his partner. Born in London in 1921, she was a codebreaker during the early days of the war before joining the SOE. In late 1940, she infiltrated Schmidt's headquarters and rescued Dr. Erskine. She'd then gone on to be a key contributor to the capture of numerous high valued targets. Her record while working at the S.S.R.'s New York office was no less exemplary, once even bringing down an entire heavy water factory. What surprised him the most however, was that she'd actually been the Operations Supervisor for Project Rebirth before she'd been replaced only days after the project had started. It didn't state what, but the files had indicated that something had happened and she'd been reassigned.

 

For a good hour he had pondered over how different the last six years would have been if she had been there instead of Agent Brian McGee. Would he have still been chosen? Would Hydra have fallen? Schmidt? The plane? They were question that no one had the answers to and maybe it was better that way. Agent McGee had been a decent man to work with after all. His skills in the field were lacking and he tended to be gruff by nature, but there were few people that could strategize the way Agent McGee could. Steve had always held the silent belief that the man belonged behind a desk rather than a gun. Despite that, he still couldn't help but think that Agent Carter would've been a better O.S.

 

Seeing Grand Central Station for the first time since his enlistment brought about an overwhelming sense of relief at being home, as well as a crushing weight of despair over all he'd lost. This city had been his home, but it'd never be the same again. His life would never be the same.

 

Not without Bucky.

 

No. He wasn't supposed to think about him. Thinking about him always brought pain. It made the nightmares worse. No. Thoughts of Sergeant James "Bucky" Barnes belonged in the box at the back of his mind. The one labeled "DO NOT TOUCH." He's here to get his mind off everything he's shoved into that box, not to dwell on it even more.

 

Thoughts pushed back, he makes his way towards the street in hopes of catching a cab. The task used to be a lot harder, back when he was the size of a twelve year old. He supposes that the extra foot or so of height along with the 150 pounds of added weight makes his current build much harder to miss.

 

"Where ya heading?" The cabbie asks as he closes the door.

 

"Manhattan, Lower East Side."

 

With his past, giving out his full address to anyone he doesn't personally know could be considered suicide. He doesn't think the man's a threat but he's learned that looks can be deceiving. And while Schmidt may be dead, Hydra is still lurking in the shadows somewhere. If they were to find him, _he'd_ be dead.

 

"You in town on business?" The driver breaks the silence, no doubt trying to stave off his bored from a day filled with mindless cruising.

 

"Coming back from business."

 

From the backseat, Steve studies the man. He looks to be in his late twenties, early thirties. Average height. A little round about the middle, but fairly fit overall. He wears a grey bowler hat and pairs it with a bushy mustache and his appearance reminds him of Dugan. His voice is deceptively soft and the slight Irish lilt has a strangely calming effect on him.

 

"Name's Patrick, 'case you were wondering."

 

"Tom."

 

He gives an alias.

 

"Had an old buddy of mine named Tom. Was a stubborn old fool. One hell of a pitcher though. Always dreamed of making it big someday."

 

"Did he?"

 

Patrick laughs.

 

"No. Messed his shoulder up pretty good working at one of them steel mills. Last I heard he went and got himself a wife. When she ain't naggin' him, he spend his time tellin' everyone at the bar all about how he coulda been the starting pitcher for the Dodgers. You a Dodgers fan Tommy? Or you one of them Yanks?"

 

"Dodgers fan." Steve says with a hint of a smile.

 

"Good man. Say you listen to the game yesterday?"

 

"Missed it unfortunately."

 

"It was a great one too. We got homer first thing outta..."

 

Though woefully uninformed about the current state of the Dodgers, or any baseball team really, it's nice to have a conversation about something so mundane. Something so normal. Normal. He realizes that this right here, talking to a complete stranger about baseball stats, is the first time he's felt even a semblance of normalcy since he woke up.

 

Patrick uses an over exaggerated gesture while describing an RBI, and Steve can't help but give his first real smile in over two years. Here, in the city that he loves, away from the sterile white rooms and stiff doctors, he finally feels that things might get better. Steve Rogers, that skinny little kid from Brooklyn, may never be the same, but he just might be able to heal some of the cracks in his heart.

 

* * *

 

 

When Peggy first hears the knocking on her door she considers not answering it. She'd picked up a new Agatha Christie book on her way home on Friday and she's only five chapters away from the end. But she knows who's at the door, and Angie won't stop banging until she opens the door or Ms.Fry comes by and chews her out. With a sigh she marks her place and goes to open the door.

 

"Agh! I can't wait until my career on Broadway takes off. I'm about ready to strangle everyone at the automat."

 

Angie discards her coat and bag on the hall table before dropping herself onto the couch.

 

"Hello to you too."

 

Peggy throws going to look for her hidden bottle of brandy. She fills two glasses with three fingers each.

 

"I thought our friendship was at the stage where we don't need meaningless pleasantries every time we see each other." Angie pouts while accepting the glass.

 

"I'm British remember. Those pleasantries are not meaningless. Manners are very important to us."

 

"How can I forget, English." She takes a sip. "So what have I missed in the three days I haven't seen you?"

 

"First of all, that's your fault."

 

"Oh, come on. You know Friday's are my late night at the automat, and I hadn't seen Daniel all week. Do you blame me for wanting to go out with him last night?" Angie whines.

 

"No, but I've been in quite the mood all week and I've no one else but you to vent my frustrations on."

 

"That's cause you're horrible at making friends. You've been here what, two years, and you have like four friends."

 

Downing her drink, she sends her friend a glare and pours herself another three fingers.

 

"I have plenty of friends, thank you very much." She says.

 

"Fine. Live in denial if you want. You still haven't told me what I've missed."

 

"Thompson finally gave me my new partner's file to read. Well, more accurately he gave me it to file, I just took it upon myself to be extra informed."

 

"Ohh! So tell me about him. Is he cute? Cause your last one looked like his face had been beaten with an ugly stick."

 

Peggy rolls her eyes and fills up her friends glass.

 

"There wasn't a picture, not that it matters if he's handsome or not."

 

"Hey, I'm not saying you should be looking for a guy. I learned the hard way not to mess with your nonexistent love life when I tried to step you up with Jerry. I'm just saying that if you're going to be stuck working with him, it'd be nice if there was something pretty to look at." Angie defended.

 

"Well, pretty or not, I've very little hopes that he'll be that great of a partner, at least in the skills department."

 

"Why do you say that?" She asks.

 

"His service record was in the file. It was all just so...average. There was literally nothing in it that stood out."

 

"Nothing?"

 

"No. Not a thing. Hardly any commendations at all either. Not even a purple heart." She says.

 

"Huh. Odd that he'd go to work for the S.S.R."

 

"Indeed."

 

"What's his name?"

 

"Steven. Steven Grant Rogers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Please let me know what you thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Please leave me a comment on what you thought.  
> P.S. If anyone has a cool title for this chapter let me know.


End file.
